The Only Cure
by Griselda Banks
Summary: Oneshot. Confined to the hospital after getting his body back, Alphonse Elric is growing restless. Pointless introspection.


**Author's Note: I didn't write this intending it to be an amazing bit of writing, or even very good at all. I just wrote this to get my frustration out while confined to the hospital for two solid weeks due to an infection. I'm not expecting torrents of praise or anything; writing this merely helped me keep my sanity, and I decided I might as well put it up.**

Alphonse Elric had anticipated the pain. He'd expected the strangeness. But the frustration was something he'd never prepared himself for.

At first, just being able to sense things was enough. People would bring him flowers, and he would spend hours trying to pick out the faint delicate scents of each kind. He could easily occupy himself for hours by lying in bed, watching the shadows move across the ceiling, listening to the indistinct chatter of nurses in the hallways, rubbing the soft blankets between his fingers. And there were so many other things to experience as well. Every day he had to work hard to get as much of his movement back as possible. It was no easy task to make his body remember how to act like a normal human body, when it had lain silent and forgotten for five years.

But the days passed, Alphonse became more and more his old self, and still he remained confined in the hospital. Something always came up – he caught a cold, they found an infection that after a few days of worry turned out to be a mistake – and whenever Alphonse thought he was nearly free, he found himself further bound in captivity. It didn't matter how he longed to quit the hospital and rush to Risenpool. It didn't matter how his brother Edward pleaded, threatened, or attempted to bribe anyone who ventured across his path. The hospital would not let Alphonse go.

Alphonse felt as though the hospital encompassed his whole life. He couldn't remember what it was like to not be hemmed in by those stark white walls. There was another life out there, he knew, a life of alchemy and metal and dangerous adventures, but it was all like a dream. Like something that had happened to someone else, someone whose story he was very familiar with, but someone with absolutely no connection to himself.

Mustang and his subordinates occasionally came to call, but those visits were few and far between, as they always had so much work to do. And the Rockbells never came to visit, because everyone was depending on them soon returning to Risenpool. Alphonse felt isolated from the rest of humanity. He acted the same as ever around his brother and the cheerful nurses who took care of him, but he felt as though they were slowly drifting away from him. As though he'd been wandering the white halls forever, and even when Edward walked by his side, the echoes down the hallways seemed to echo in his soul, and he felt the same profound emptiness he had as a suit of armor.

Alphonse wondered if this was what real depression felt like. His favorite time of every day was when the nurses and his brother told him goodnight and switched off the lights. Other highlights were the various times throughout the day when he could make up some excuse to go to sleep. Sometimes he even pretended to feel light-headed, just so he could lie down and be left alone. The strangest thing about the hospital was that no matter how much Alphonse slept, he was always ready to sleep some more. When he was asleep, he could forget any and all problems. He didn't have to be conscious of all the frustrating aspects of his "life".

And when he slept, he could dream. He had all sorts of fantastic, wild dreams, as though his imagination was making up for years of no sleep. Occasionally he had nightmares, but most often his dreams were pleasant. He would dream of happy days in Risenpool, or standing in the midst of all his friends and laughing, or running free as a suit of armor. Everything was perfect in his dreams…but then he would always have to wake up in the end. When his eyes slid open each morning, he would suppress a groan with difficulty. One more day of attempting to forget just how long he'd been there.

At the end of two very long weeks, Alphonse received a commiserating letter from the Rockbells, telling him how much he was missed and how they hoped to see him very soon. It was cheerful and light-hearted in tone, but as soon as he read the opening lines he burst into tears. Here was a solid reminder of the life outside the hospital. The life that was no longer his. The life he ached for, more painfully than any of the aches in his body.

Now Alphonse knew what his brother felt like, whenever injury or damage to his automail delayed them. Alphonse understood Edward's restlessness…but that didn't make it go away.

The only cure came when they finally told him he could go home at last. His heart swelled in his chest till he thought it would burst, and he surprised even himself by leaping to his feet and hugging the nurse who brought this wonderful news. Then he immediately turned and hugged his brother as well, and had to wipe away a few overjoyed tears he hadn't been able to hold back.

That last day in the hospital seemed the most unbearable of all. The hours crept agonizingly by, and they were held up by a dozen last-minute check-ups and preparations, but through it all Alphonse kept his spirits up by repeating to himself, _I'm going home, I'm going home!_

Then they cut the bracelet that displayed his name, and he flew free once more, unfettered, liberated. No more staring pointlessly at the blank wall. No more walking up and down those same white halls. No more boring hospital food, or the eternal scents of antiseptic and antibiotics. Alphonse stepped out the hospital doors, and it was like waking up in his body all over again. He felt more alive than he had in a long, long time.

"Race you to the station!" he cried to his brother, and set off at top speed, meeting his life with outstretched arms.


End file.
